


For Tomorrow

by Azurite9925



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Alexander Anderson centric, Anderson Lives AU, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-OAV/OVA, Survivor Guilt, The Battle of London, The Ninth Crusade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 11:00:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11872968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azurite9925/pseuds/Azurite9925
Summary: Anderson Lives AU.When Anderson didn’t use Helena’s Nail during OVA 8 (the Battle of London), the two fought fairly and Anderson still lost. Instead of killing him, however, Alucard simply knocks the man out, and he lives - Alucard respects Anderson's humanity and rivalry too much to kill him; after the battle, Anderson picked up the pieces of the Iscariot and carried on.Two months later, a knock comes on his orphanage’s door long after everyone’s asleep. To his great surprise, it's Integra Hellsing, and she has a proposition for him.





	For Tomorrow

**For Tomorrow**

 

A knock sounded at his door.

The noise seemed to be a figment of his imagination at first; perhaps it was a tree branch tapping against the building again. It  _ was _ a stormy night. Usually, the Mediterranean was a moderate, kind, sea, but tonight, the rains and waves were vicious, capricious, unyielding. They brought up old memories. Then again, perhaps Anderson was awake too late and had one too many drinks. Glancing at the half-empty whiskey bottle, he was ready to place the noise on the latter. Minutes later, however, there was another knock.

Anderson sighed and placed his glass down on the center table. He glanced at the door towards the bedrooms to make sure there was no light, nor there was any open doors - he didn’t want any of his children coming into contact with alcohol after all - and then stood, heading to the front door. 

As he opened the door, his eyebrows rose - even though the outside world was only lit by a sickly moon and temperamental lightning, even though the reception room was only lit by a single, albeit large, candle, he couldn’t mistake the figure at the door. With severe yet delicate ochre features, perceptive azure eyes, and hair spun from gold, one could not mistake Sir Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing for a commoner. She wore her sharp navy blazer, red cravat and raven victorian overcoat - just as impeccably put together as always. She never did change, and there was no one like her.

“Come in, it’s rainin’.” Anderson mumbled, moving away from the doorway. The knight inclined her head and entered the opening room, her eyes holding a deceptive apathy as they scanned her surroundings. 

The center room of the orphanage served as the playroom, meeting room, lunch room, so on and so forth. As such, the room was a bit of a mess. But one could hardly blame them - it was a small orphanage, with only a center room, a chapel, a kitchen, and 2 rooms filled with bunk beds for the 20 or so children. Anderson’s own room and office was under the chapel, but the children didn’t know that… after all, many of his files for the Iscariot was there, more so than there used to be, before… before the attack.

“Father Anderson. Are you listening?” Said father snapped out of his darkening thoughts and met Sir Hellsing’s wry eyes. 

Sighing, he shook his head. “I’m short on sobriety, pard’n me.” He mumbled. He realized, with a jolt, sometime when he was lost in his thoughts, Sir Hellsing and he had sat down at the chairs at the north and south ends of the center table. Perhaps he should pay a bit more attention. 

Sir Hellsing’s lip twitched upwards for barely a moment before she schooled it and gestured at the bottle of whiskey on the center table. “May I join you? It’s too sobering a night to be anything but a tad drunk.”

Anderson’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Ya got that one right. Gimme a minute.” He stood, grabbing a glass from the kitchen. Returning, he poured a modest amount for the knight and himself, raising the glass with an incline of his head before he sat back in his seat, his eyes boring into her figure. She, however, wasn’t nervous at all. She took her glass and gave a small smile in thanks, before taking a sip.

She hummed softly. “Good whiskey.” Anderson was surprised to see that she hadn’t reacted to the strong proof. After all, Anderson rarely got the weak, storebought swill for his personal stores. 

“Thank ya. I doubt, though, yer ‘ere to sip my whiskey.” He commented.

Sir Hellsing nodded. “Yes. Thank you, Father Anderson, for the rather warm welcome, and especially the whiskey. I’m going to be honest - I didn’t know what to expect when I came. After all, the last time we saw each other was on the battlefield.”

“Aye.” Anderson nodded, mind drifting back to that damned day, months ago…

  
  


_ After Seras - the fully turned vampire, not the runt he had met mere months before - had come to rescue the Hellsing matriarch, Anderson left to the battlefield. He had wished his Iscariot would leave, escape the impending bloodbath, but they were not to be cowed by mere chaos - they stayed with him, to his greatest anger and pride. As he slashed his way through the army of souls pouring out of Alucard’s filthy, polluted, soul, Anderson began to drift and think of Enrico, that sweet, ambitious, mischievous child who had grown into a pious, bloodthirsty, and cruel man. Anderson… didn’t regret killing him.  _

_ He regretted killing the child. But not the man.  _

_ He told his mind that and settled into a tenuous mental clarity, enough to keep going. Of course, people were different at different times - Seras Victoria the vampire was much different than Seras Victoria the fledgeling. While a part of him wondered if he should have killed the damn bint when he first met her, Hellsing’s threats be damned, Anderson knew that she had basically been human at that point. She’d basically been human for a very long time after her turning. Perhaps… that’s why he didn’t feel hatred towards her. Just the apathy and the duty-bound contempt that came from being a vampire slayer and God’s guillotine. _

_ As the sea of monsters began to clear, Anderson grinned - Alucard was right there, just for Anderson to kill him. He had to. There was no other time when Alucard was this exposed, this vulnerable - perhaps, he could be defeated by a human.  _

_ “Monster!” He called, making it to the clearing. Alucard turned his heavy scarlet gaze onto Anderson, his lips curling into a smile that was more like a beast bearing fangs. Now sensing Alucard’s chaotic, unleashed power, Anderson couldn’t help but feel like he was walking into something he couldn’t fully comprehend. As a regenerator of countless decades old, he couldn’t help but wonder, if he feels so old now, how old does that immortal evil feel?  _

_ His mind twitched with an odd question: does the immortal evil ever grow tired? _

_ Perhaps he will consult his bible some other time. For now, he had to focus. _

_ “Judas Priest. Have you come to kill me?” Alucard mocked. Anderson bared his teeth  and growled, glaring at the beast, the abomination of man. Reaching into his coat pocket, fingering the nail within, he knew what he had to do. _

_ “Yes, ya filthy heathen!” Anderson yelled, “Do ya not see tha rivers of blood around ya? See tha deaths of countless innocents? God almighty, grant me forgiveness, for I can, and will, do anythin’ to defeat this monster.” He murmured. “Amen.” _

_ He drew Helena’s Nail from his pocket, causing Alucard to show the first emotion Anderson had ever seen on the man, other than a parody of glee and bloodlust - shock, and sadness. Alucard looked at the needle as if it represented all of the evil in the world, as if  _ that _ was the great evil, and not the monster who made such dire circumstances possible.  _

_ “Anderson.” Alucard said, his voice oddly soft. “Don’t. Put that down.” _

_ Anderson huffed a laugh. “And what? Let ya ravage this city?” _

_ “No, you can’t defeat me with that… don’t lose your humanity.” Anderson’s expression froze, confused at the oddly vulnerable words, words that were so easy to hear and understand over the background cries and screams and weeping of thousands. “I would be honored to die by your hands - but only if you were to be a human. Do not sully yourself to my level, Alexander Anderson. Do not become… me.” _

_ “I am God’s weapon, used as the Lord will. I will make any sacrifice to bring victory.” Anderson resolutely said. _

_ Alucard shook his head, his body quaked by soft chuckles. “Enrico thought the same.” Anderson froze at the mention of his child’s name. He quickly recovered, pushing the thought in the back of his head - Enrico was different, Enrico wasn’t a child anymore. “He believed in God until the very last minute, believed that wiping away everyone, giving up his morals, was worth it in the end. I saw you deliver his punishment, Anderson. Must I deliver yours, should you pierce that nail into your heart?” _

_ Anderson felt his hand, the one that held the nail, tremble slightly. Alucard didn’t continue his speech, however. His smirk had faced into a quiet, impassive mask that simply observed Anderson as if he was a rather interesting character in a novel. Anderson… anderson didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think about it at all, simply stick the nail in there, murder the monster, and then… _

_ Stay a monster, until he’s slayed and sent to the deepest layers of hell for betraying the greatest gift God had ever given them - humanity. _

_ He put the nail back in his pocket. Alucard smirked, although it held a bit less edge. _

_ “Get ready Judas Priest, for our final showdown.” _

  
  


Anderson hadn’t won. That wasn’t surprising.

But he had lived. That was. 

Alucard had spared him, after the match - choosing to let him go unconscious, rather than killing him outright. Anderson understood the gesture on some level, but on another, he thought the vampire was as insane as he could get.

“I’m glad the Vatican could go back into a sense of normalcy after all that had happened.” Sir Hellsing commented, snapping the paladin out of his thoughts. He should stop being distracted around her, he decided; he could die if he didn’t.

With that being said, “An’ I ‘eard that Hellin’s Manor’s rebuilt. Now, I don’ mean ta be rude, but why are ya here?” If it was murder, Seras would be here, not the delicate Sir Hellsing.

Sir Hellsing gave a small laugh. “I’m surprised that wasn’t your first question as soon as I showed up at your doorstep, Father Anderson. Has the ale addled you much?” Anderson thought of the already finished bottle of whiskey, the half he’d finished just before she came, and the glass in his hand. Maybe. “Regardless, I come here as a gesture of goodwill extended by the Queen of England.”

If Anderson arched his eyebrows anymore, he was sure that it would fall off his head. “A gesture of goodwill?” He murmured, smiling to himself. “A’ter London?”

Sir Hellsing nodded. “Especially after the abomination at London. Sure, most of the innocents lost were ours. But yours faced many losses, and it’s of the knights’ opinions and Pope’s implications that Enrico Maxwell had not been working on the orders of the Pope. As such, we were facing a common enemy that neither the public, nor most of the knights, could really comprehend, but were forced to accept for Queen Elizabeth’s sake.” She explained.

“An’ what’s tha gotta do with me?” He asked.

“Everything.” The heathen practically purred, “After all, you saved my life.” Although her expression was still infuriatingly blank, Anderson knew that if Sir Hellsing was anything like Enrico, she’d rather kill herself than honestly thank him for his action. “So, our Lady Elizabeth has already hosted a mass funeral for the events, but we, as Hellsing, are making a smaller funeral for those lost within the supernatural combat. We, Hellsing, would like to extend an invitation to you, and up to 2 guests. I do advise, however, to avoid bringing the children. Miss Victoria’s arm is rather conspicuous, and Hellsing Manor isn’t completely safe for the young and mortally curious.” 

Anderson watched the woman quietly. The events in London were nothing short of traumatizing to not only those in the Iscariot, but also those in other divisions and in other countries. He was sure England herself was suffering greatly. He knew all that. He lived through all of that. And yet, the thought of going to a mass funeral to unnamed soldiers and the various fallen made him feel as if the disaster of London was… real. It was all too easy to pretend, in a sunny little orphanage in the outskirts of Rome, fire and fury had not rained from the heavens in the form of a single vampire whose soul was lost to legions of troubled souls and spirits. He had not been there at Enrico’s funeral for the very same reason - he did not want to face what he had done, he did not want to think that, for some reason, God had chosen to let him live regardless of all of his sins. Closing his eyes, London’s hellish skyline greeted him, as usual, and Anderson wanted to laugh. 

He couldn’t escape, could he? How could the head of the Iscariot deny a gesture of goodwill from the Protestant church, after so much bloodshed? He was being rather selfish about the whole thing. Still, he wished Heinkel or Yumiko could be the head - it was always so much easier to be the second in command, and the women were much more fit to it than he was. He was an old weapon. They… they were people at least. But he could not argue with the pope, now could he?

And just as Sir Hellsing was about to open his mouth, he raised a hand to interrupt her. She inclined her head. “I’d like ta accept yer offer. I’ll be bringin’ my second in commands - Heinkel and Yumiko. Ya’ve met em.” He simply said. “Thank ya, Sir Hellsin’”

She paused, and then a small, but very honest, smile, tugged at her lips. “Thank you, Father Anderson. Please, if we’re to have a modicum of peace, call me Integra.”

Anderson nodded. “Call me Anderson, then. It’s what most call me.” Integra nodded. 

The duo fell into quiet, their thoughts occupying the conversation. Anderson wondered just how he’d tell his other former children, Yumiko and Heinkel, that they’d be in Protestant territory soon, in peace. Integra must have said something, because Anderson found himself responding and jotting down a date and time, but his self wasn’t paying attention.

  
  


_ He didn’t know what to feel when Enrico Maxwell told him that two of Anderson’s former children, two of Enrico’s sisters, were almost done with the surgery to become regenerators, to become weapons of Limbo, just like him. A part of him wondered if Enrico even felt any sort of remorse for his sisters to have to undergo the shedding of their humanity. Still, he pushed the thought aside and thanked Enrico, heading to the secret operating theatres at the very basement of the building. They kept the theatres and surgeons on hand for post mission fixups and… inductions… like these.  _

_ As he walked into the waiting room, an almost cliched room of pastel colors, an aquarium and a row of plain wooden chairs, he saw the light above the main theatre go out - they were done. Anderson awkwardly fit himself into the wooden chairs, part of him scared to crush it with the sheer largeness of his body, but sighed when nothing happened.  _

_ The doctor - a simple man with plain but warm features - walked out of the theatre, holding open the door so a slender, blonde, staggering figure could walk out. Anderson immediately stood, seeing her, and strode over, ignoring the doctor’s questioning words, and crouched so he could force her to drape her arm over his shoulder and take his help in walking. Behind him, when a young, willowy, japanese woman emerged, Anderson did the same. _

_ He knew his children. They were so, so, so, stubborn. Before either could say a word, he growled at them to shush. “Apologies doctor. They’re my dau’ers, I’ll take care of ‘em.”  _

_ The surgeon was about to say something, but when a nurse came up to them and saw Anderson, her eyes widened and she gave a bright smile and platitudes, and with a small grunt and reminder of the current girls on his shoulders, Anderson was able to weasel himself out of the situations. Chanting softly to himself, he teleported to the orphanage, to his personal bed, a bed big enough for 3 (and just enough for Anderson with all the thrashing he does in his nightmares), and enough for the two women.  _

_ He took a good look at them. The short haired blonde with button features and a serious disposition, Heinkel, was one of the very few daughters he was to care for. Both her and the long haired, softly kind, intelligent woman beside her were one of the 3 girls who had so much aptitude, that other orphanages asked him, the head of the boys’ orphanages, to train them, so they may be paladins or something else. However, Anderson grimaced, he had never hoped the anything else would be a regenerator. Of course, the church called it an honor, but Anderson knew better, knew that the gauntness of their skin and the weakness of their bones would leave them, but the feeling never would, the feeling that their body was no longer a creation of God.  _

_ Yumiko stirred, groaning softly. “F-father, thank you.” She murmured.  _

_ “Shh.” Anderson said, stroking her hair, “Rest. I will explain exactly what the surgery means to you in the morning. Rest. I know more than anyone that the surgery isn’t the kindest on the best of days.” He murmured. And as much as he saw them, saw their sacrifice… Anderson couldn’t help but feel the faintest, an oddly selfish sort of pride, that his daughters were to work with him.  _

_ Heinkel spoke next. “T-thank you Father.” _

_ Anderson simply smiled.  _

_ We should be thanking you, dear daughters of God.  _

  
  


Now, as they stood beside him, Heinkel on the right, Yumiko on the left, Anderson couldn’t help but think back to that day, and the day after London, when he was faced with the very same scare of two very pale daughters recovering from over exerting themselves, trying to save a damned legion of Christ's army. 

Currently, they were at the funerals for all the men failed saving. 

He didn’t want to think of it. But he couldn’t help it, today was his day of reckoning. 

Anderson watched as Integra placed flowers at all three graves - one for the soldiers lost against the forces of evil, one for the Hellsing family as a whole, and one, oddly enough, for the innocence lost by all who protected those with innocence. As soon as she went back to standing beside Seras, Heinkel glanced at him, expectant. Anderson sighed. It was his time.

Standing, he opened his bible to the verses, murmured the rites in his reverent tone, in his polished latin, in his priestly fashion, beside the last 2 people who understood him, beside the last 3 people he wanted to see. He channeled God in his words, a silent beg towards the lord to never make another London happen again, to never make another Millennium. One by one, the eyes of his paladins - some of them his children, most of them not - flashed the back of his mind, slowly pulling his spirit into a gunk of sadness and guilt, a guilt that asked him why he was to live, when they all died. He felt a part of him drowning, a part of him going deeper and deeper until his eyes looked hollow and his words were little more than the product of habit and knowing the bible and rites like his very home.

When he spoke the final “Amen,” his voice cracked slightly, as the eyes of Enrico Maxwell appeared to him. In all reality, he knew that that final word was his most reverent apology, and a resolution to never let such devastation happen again. To never let the innocent die. To protect his children from endless suffering. 

He promised.

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly? I like writing Anderson a lot for multiple reasons:
> 
> He's a great foil towards Alucard and their dynamic was wonderful. They hated each other, but at the same time, respected each other. Alucard, especially, respected the humanity of Anderson. I would believe that Alucard would be respectful towards someone who held true to their humanity, the humanity he coveted.
> 
> He cares. Legitimately. And he's a man of his ideals - he was, after all, the one who killed Enrico, one of his former orphans. I like to think Father Anderson is personally very fond of his former orphans and considers them his children. Actually, I like to think Father Anderson as someone who instinctually softens around people he sees as "young" - take Seras and his encounter in the OVA 8. Both are cordial, surprisingly so.
> 
> He's incredibly duty based, which I respect, but also incredibly disciplined morally - he did not like killing innocents, even if he disliked protestants. He wasn't a blind weapon - he was both a priest (a father) and a warrior. He was who Enrico was supposed to be, in my opinion.
> 
> A billion other reasons too, one of which is that I relate to him more than a lot of other characters, but regardless, enough rambling.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
